Don't You Miss Me
by YahtzeeBitch
Summary: Four years after the Battle of Sokovia Special Agent Brewster Alana Mercer lives in a constant cycle of guilt and nightmares, a shell of who she used to be. Her life changes drastically again when dismantled S.H.I.E.L.D comes back into her life, this time to help. Though they bring in the last person she could bear seeing again: Bucky Barnes. AU. Sequel to T.I.M.U.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings from sunny Rhode Island! Don't worry that's not where I live, just on vacation. More importantly though, happy Fourth of July! Which means happy birthday Steven Grant Rogers! And here's the first chapter of this new story for you all! Bucky doesn't make an appearance here, but we'll get to him, no worries!**

 **Other notes, I had this idea before Civil War came out so this story will be AU. Also, this chapter is short, promise they'll be longer!**

 **As always I hope you all enjoy it! Don't forget to review! It'll bring faster updates and brightens my day a lot!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anyting.**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Unwanted Visitor**

" _Being alone with your feelings is the worst because you have nowhere to run. They're here, dancing in your mind and all you can do is handle."_

* * *

"Just _breathe_." It was three in the morning, the sky was still dark outside and only the moon's light filtered through the open window of the small bedroom. Those were the two words that, though spoken softly, shattered the silence. A brunette had her head cradled in her trembling calloused hands as the images of her latest nightmare still replayed over and over again in her mind.

She could never undo the atrocities she had committed. All the blood on her hands would never wash away.

Brewster Alana Mercer. Former special agent for S.H.I.E.L.D, an organization that had been toppled years ago. She was a legend of sorts. An ex-member of S.T.R.I.K.E Team: Delta. An ex-member of the Avengers Initiative. The agent that brought back Steven Grant Rogers. The agent that brought back James Buchanan Barnes.

Her friends had called her Alana.

Though that was all the past.

That was _before_ the shit hit the fan.

Her shoulders shook as she heard the little boy begging for his life again. She gasped slightly, the sound gaining the attention of the Doberman who lay on the floor at the foot of her bed. It took the dog a little effort to push himself off the wood floor, his paws slipping, and hop up onto the bed but once there he lay his boxy head on her thighs, whining softly until her hands came away from her face to bury them in his short fur.

"Good boy." Alana's words wavered slightly as she refocused on the dog.

Delta had been her rock for the past five years.

It took only a few minutes before the ex-assassin had calmed down. She continued stroking the dog, her thumbs moving in small circles just behind his ears as she glanced over at her nightstand. On top, right beside her alarm clock, sat a single picture frame.

There had been a time when a certain World War II veteran held that spot. Though that had been almost four years ago now. Alana didn't speak about him, didn't talk to him, didn't dare even _think_ his name for fear of all the old feelings rushing back. The guilt would suffocate her if she did.

She had loved him. Deep down, Alana knew she probably still did.

But it was a different man, a boy really, who had claimed that frame for the past four years.

Pietro Maximoff's death wasn't something she would ever forget.

It was the reason she was so broken. The reason she had abandoned the Avengers so quickly. The reason she had broken away from all but one of them, no matter how hard they tried to reach out to her.

Only Steve Rogers had an idea of where she was, she could never completely cut things off with him.

Pietro's death had shattered her beyond repair and Alana refused to let anyone come in to help her pick up the pieces.

Alana refused a lot of things.

Letting out another breath she sat up more in bed, reaching over and turning the picture frame face down. She didn't want to see it anymore, didn't want the reminder of what she had done.

A small part of her mind told her to throw out the photograph. Another part knew she didn't have the courage to do that.

It was, after all, her fault he was gone.

;;::;;

She didn't like going out in public.

It made her feel exposed and open to an attack. Not that anyone in the town knew who she really was, she had been here long enough that no one thought more of her than the town hermit. She was no threat to anyone.

Her combat boots didn't make a sound as she walked along the cement sidewalk, her face hidden under the shadows of her ball cap as she made her way towards the little corner grocery store. As a breeze blew through Alana pulled her leather jacket closer to her body, the wind making her shiver slightly. Even though it was late June, she knew that the mornings would be frigid until July. As she neared the store her brown eyes glanced to the parking lot quickly, her mind taking note of the cars and trucks that were parked there.

They were busy for eight thirty in the morning.

She almost turned around and went back home, but Delta was out of food and her dog had to eat.

Pushing the store's door open with one hand, Alana pulled the lip of her hat down more on her head with the other. She ignored the cheery "Good morning!" that the store manager tossed her way, stuffing her hands in her pockets and making a beeline for aisle seven after snatching a basket.

Dry pasta was the first thing to make it into her basket, followed by hot sauce and avocados. She paused suddenly halfway down aisle ten, the distinct feeling of being followed spread through her veins.

A hand slide to her left hip, checking to make sure her knife was still there, hidden under the waistband of her jeans. The cool metal, as always, made her relax more even though she still felt eyes on her.

She kept walking, her pace a bit faster now. Alana glanced behind her, scowling when she didn't see anyone there.

That didn't mean she was still being watched, she wasn't naïve enough to think such a thing.

Alana grabbed Delta's regular food from the bottom shelf, irked slightly as she had to carry it on her left shoulder, leaving both of her hands occupied.

She had meant to buy more things, but those would have to wait. Alana made her way quickly to the register. The cashier didn't look to be older than seventeen, his bright nametag had 'Brett' in bold black letters written on it.

"Good morning!" He was too cheery for her, "How's your day been so far ma'am?" That caught her off guard and she openly starred at him for a few seconds until he shifted uncomfortably under her sharp gaze.

She hadn't been called ma'am in a long time.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose again, spurring her into action. Alana dug through one of her pockets, pulling out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill and putting it down a little too harshly in front of the boy, making him jump. His eyes widened in shock. His eyebrows rose when he saw her face.

A long, jagged scar stretched from her left temple across her cheek and down underneath her jaw. His eyes flickered down, catching sight of burn marks that had long since healed over peeking out from underneath her gray t-shirt. Her tan hand came up to tug the fabric over the abrasions, snapping the boy's attention back to her face.

"That should cover it." Her voice didn't match her harsh appearance at all. It was lighter than the boy had expected, softer. But her tone still didn't leave any room for argument, and he just nodded as she snatched the bag and easily tossed the thirty-pound bag of dog food over her shoulder. "Keep the change." She told him over her shoulder as she walked out.

Alana walked back home at a normal pace, knowing it was better not to draw attention to herself. The feeling of being followed never faded, and if she wasn't out in the open where civilians could see she would've turned around and confronted the person.

Her worry wasn't being attacked, it was having to attack someone else.

Alana had given up fighting, resigned from it all just before the Battle of Sokovia. She didn't want people to figure out who she was, and if she had to fight someone in public then it wouldn't be long before people started asking questions they shouldn't.

It only took her about twenty minutes of walking before her home came into view. The two story cottage was nestled among the trees, hidden away from the dirt road. Out front sat an old, slightly rusted black Chevy truck. Used mostly when she went out into the mountains with Delta.

Her combat boots thudded softly against the wooden steps as she made her way up and across the open front porch, swinging open the front and screen door before stepping inside, closing both behind herself.

She was greeted by Delta, the large dog trotting over after bounding down the stairs. Alana set the bag of dog food on the counter, the Doberman sniffing the bag excitedly as his tag wagged. His master turned away from him, busying herself with putting away the other groceries as the tension in her shoulders remained. Her kitchen, like the rest of the house, was simple. Granite countertops being the most extravagant part of the whole cottage. Simple wood floors throughout the downstairs, simple beige tile in the kitchen, simple leather couches surrounded a glass-top coffee table which had been placed in front of the fireplace. A small television was placed in the corner.

The walls were almost completely bare, the only decoration being a red, brown, and yellow tribal patterned tapestry that she had hung on the wall directly opposite the fireplace. There was nothing else. No mirrors, no photographs, no nothing.

Everything had a place, a purpose for it's being in Alana's home.

The sound of a low, warning growl sounded only a millisecond before Alana heard the distinct sound of boots crunching over the dying grass of her front lawn. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her feet carrying her to the cabinet by the front door before Alana opened the doors.

Guns and knives lined the inside, dark eyes only roaming over the contents for a moment before her hand wrapped around a shotgun. The doors were closed, and Alana let out a huff as she opened the front door, stepping through the screen door as Delta pushed it open. The large dog stopped obediently at the edge of the porch, his hackles raised.

The gun had hung by Alana's side, still held in her right hand as her eyebrows shot up at the figure who stood only a few yards away from her front porch. A grin spread across his face and he took a step forward. The shotgun was up and aimed at his head in the next instant, the clear warning had her visitor letting out a low whistle.

She fleetingly wondered how the hell he had found her.

"Now Alana, that ain't no way to say hello to your former supervising officer, is it?"

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 **Don't forget to review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter!**

 **Thanks so much for everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Hope you all enjoy this one too!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just Alana**

* * *

 **Chapter Two: My Job**

" _The most memorable people in life will be the friends who loved you when you weren't very lovable."_

* * *

Perhaps against her better judgement, Alana ended up wordlessly letting Clint Barton come into her house. That choice had been made ten minutes ago and now the two sat in awkward silence in her living room.

The shotgun was still by her side, not making Clint feel very welcome in his former charge's home. The archer's eyes roamed over her as she sat across from him. Alana sat on the couch in jeans and a gray t-shirt, her skin tanned and hair pulled back, away from her scarred face. Without the jacket more scars were visible, as were the burn marks she sustained in Sokovia. The carnage left behind from the burns covered most of her right bicep, small scars covering both arms. When Clint's gaze made its way back up to her face, he was met with narrowed russet eyes.

Her thin lips twisted off to the side for a moment before she opened her mouth, "How'd you find me?" It had been years since Clint Barton had heard her voice.

The archer shrugged, his hand reaching out as Delta made his way over to the man. The dog still remembered Clint, his tail wagging now as he was scratched behind his left ear. Delta's mouth opened, a grin seeming to spread across the dog's face as his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth.

Alana scowled at her dog.

Traitor.

"Luck." Was Clint's flippant response, causing Alana to roll her eyes at him. The archer held up his hands, much to Delta's disappointment. "Really, all I was doing was gettin' groceries." She still didn't believe him, "I left S.H.I.E.L.D years ago, just like I'd always planned."

She knew he was telling the truth in that regard. Alana let out a very unladylike grunt at his words, Clint laughing softly at her, "Pretty sound there, 'Lana." She couldn't remember the last time anyone called her 'Lana, but the retort rolled off her tongue easily just the same, covering her surprise.

"I've been skipping my weekly etiquette lessons." She deadpanned, folding her arms over her chest with a scowl. Clint leaned forwards, elbows on his knee.

She knew he was getting serious now.

"Where have you been?" Clint sounded almost betrayed, and in a way Alana figured that's exactly what she had done to him. To all of them, really. "I saw you next to Cap on the lifeboats leaving Sokovia and right when we landed," He shook his head, the exact details having faded away over time, "But then you were gone." Clint looked up at Alana to see her face covered in a passive façade. The archer's hands wrung together, his knuckles turning white. "At first, we thought you just needed to be alone," Sympathy shone bright in his eyes and Alana looked away, her pale lips pulling downwards, "Then days passed and you didn't contact any of us. We thought you'd at least contact Bucky, give him some peace of mind that you were okay."

Alana's mind went haywire the moment Bucky's name was mentioned. Flooded with flashes of the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His brilliant blue eyes that seemed to be the floodgates to his soul. She could practically read his thoughts through his eyes alone. She thought of his voice, the deep baritone tones that she heard in her dreams. His charm, his wit, his whole aura that her heart ached so deeply for each day and her brain refused to follow.

He deserved better. Not her. She was just a waste of oxygen. A cowardly waste that didn't even have enough strength to kill herself.

She missed his touch, his words, his simple company.

Alana missed a lot of things that she would no longer allow herself to have.

"Alana?" Clint watched as Alana seemed faded into a world all her own. Slowly he stood up, making his way over to her and gently placing a hand on her knee.

In the next moment a resounding smack filled the room in the form of the distinct sound of skin colliding with skin as Alana's hand slapped Clint Barton across the face. It had been a fist, but she caught herself at the last possible second. "What the fuck did yah touch me for!?" Alana cried out, hints of fear lacing her words, "I could've hurt you!"

In those four words Clint Barton understood why she was living alone. Why she cut herself off from everyone.

* * *

Clint Barton knew that Alana would hate him for what he was doing. That was the understatement of the year. If she knew what he was doing, she would've killed him so that he could never leave her house.

As it was he was praying she wasn't packing her bags and making a run for it while he was gone.

Clint's fingers scrolled through the contacts in his phone, pausing over one name in particular. She was going to kill him when she found out, pummel him to a pulp and put him in the ground. Clint sighed, it was for her own good.

Pressing call he brought his cell phone to his ear, listening as the dial tone sounded repeatedly over and over again. "C'mon, c'mon pick up, pick up." The archer's foot tapped repeatedly as he leaned against the hood of his truck in the corner store parking lot.

" _Barton?!"_ Clint rolled his eyes at the disbelieving greeting he got from his friend.

"Wow," Clint grinned, sarcasm lacing his words "Great hearing from you too Cap, I'm great thanks for asking." There was a laugh on the other end of the line as Steve ran a hand through his blonde hair.

"Sorry, Clint, just surprised is all. Haven't heard from you in a while." He paused and Clint heard his footsteps in the background, then the sound of a door closing. "How's the family?"

A smile played on Clint's lips, "They're good, really good."

Steve chuckled again, "I feel like there's a 'but' coming on."

Clint shrugged, "But that's not why I called…" Steve stayed silent on the other end of the line, waiting for Clint to continue. The archer wasn't sure how to tell Steve, so he figured he'd just get it out there. "I found Alana."

* * *

It was the twentieth of June and Alana found herself sitting in an Adirondack chair on her front porch, simply looking out over the mountains. They always made her feel so small.

She liked that.

She did miss Boston though. Missed the hustle and bustle of the city. The tall skyscrapers and the Boston Common. Alana had thought of going back, buying a little place above a store and starting over. But Delta needed room to run, and Boston was the first place anyone would look for her. There was more of a risk that she would run into someone she knew.

Alana couldn't risk running into an old friend, lest they tell her family. A family who still thought she was dead. She missed them, but knew it was better this way. Easier for her and for them.

As the breeze picked up she tilted her head back, letting a small smile tug at her lips at the feeling. Delta lay at her feet, his head resting on his black paws. His ears perked up as she started humming softly, his tail wagging slightly as well.

On simple days like these, she was happy.

Alana ran a hand through her long hair, brushing it back away from her face before she let her eyes slip closed, her muscles slowly relaxing just a fraction. Even though she hadn't formally trained in four years she was still fit. She went for runs, she chopped wood for her fireplace and did repairs around the house.

Modified genetics also helped keep her fit. She didn't know if she was physically capable of losing the muscle she had.

Those thoughts drifted to the back of her mind as she let out a breath, relaxing even more into the chair.

An hour later she woke up to Delta barking. Her head snapped up, glancing down at the dog whose hackles were raised for the second time that week. Clint had left just three days ago with the promise to keep her location a secret. Alana had known she shouldn't have trusted the former archer.

She still didn't hear anything though and she let Delta bound out into the front yard, barking two more times before coming to a halt. "What is it, boy?" Alana wondered aloud, her mouth settling into a thin line a moment later when she heard it as well. "For fuck's sake."

She was going to kill Clint.

The sound of a motorcycle engine roared through the woods, very clearly headed towards her small home. It rounded the corner a moment later, the broad shouldered blonde riding it very clearly being Steven Grant Rogers.

Delta barked again and Alana let out a sharp whistle. The dog's head swung around to look at her, his ears pricked. She laid her hand flat by her side and he turned, trotting over to her and lying down. "Stay." Her command was firm and she left the dog there, walking down the front steps and across the yard as Steve parked his motorcycle by her truck.

Looking up, he paused. Alana stood in the middle of her yard, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at him. She was still strong, he could see the defined muscles in her arms and legs from where he sat on the bike. Her hair had grown out and darkened, falling in slight waves over her left shoulder. Though even from afar, she looked like a soldier.

It was the way she stood, spine straight and shoulders back. At attention and ready to move should she need to.

Taking in a breath Steve turned around, grabbing a hold of the strap of his gym bag before dismounting the bike. He had packed some clothes, hoping to be able and spend a few days with her.

He had told Bucky he was going out on a mission. Hadn't told his best friend that Clint had found Alana.

Steve wanted to see how she was for himself first.

He swung his bag over his shoulder, Alana eyeing it carefully as he made his way over. Despite himself, a large smile stretched across the Captain's face. Alana raised an eyebrow, "Well, if it isn't Mr. All-American himself." Steve wasn't sure if she meant for her tone to be joking or not, if it was then she failed miserably.

Steve shifted awkwardly, holding out his hand. "You've been hard to find." Alana eyed it warily and Steve's hand dropped to his side.

"That's the point when you don't wanna be found." She had to tip her head up to look him in the eye, making eye contact with him, her gaze softened slightly.

Steve Rogers would always hold a special place in her heart. Being the one to reintegrate him into society nearly seven years ago Alana had grown to be fiercely protective of him. She often worried about whether he was alright out in the world. "You look older." She told him, noticing more wrinkles on his face then there had been before. His laugh lines were more ingrained, that made her happy.

"So do you." Alana Mercer didn't look a helluva lot older than her true thirty-one years, but her eyes made her look ages older. The haunting gleam that swam there practically told a story all their own, as did her scars and burn marks.

The two stood in silence for a few awkward moments, Steve rubbing the back of his neck and not knowing what to say. "You still can't talk to girls, can you?" Her light attempt at teasing him made him grin and Steve shook his head.

"There's a million things I wanna ask you, just don't know where to start."

"Start by coming inside," She invited, shocking Steve at how well she seemed to be doing. "It'll get cold soon." He grinned down at her, walking to follow her toward the steps.

Delta still was watching from the porch, the dog's butt moving side to side on the wood as he recognized the super soldier from when he was younger. Alana rolled her eyes, flicking her wrist in a movement Steve almost missed. It released Delta from his spot, the ninety-pound dog running over and jumping around the blonde man. Steve beamed, crouching down to pet Delta. "Holy shit, he's huge!"

"Watch your language there, soldier." Steve rolled his eyes at her, burying his hands in Delta's short coat. "Turned five two months ago."

"Aw, you're almost as old as me, buddy!" Alana's lips tugged up slightly as Steve teased her dog.

She let out a bark of a laugh, "You're a hundred this year." She pointed out.

"Yeah, Stark reminds me almost every day." Alana went quiet at the mention of Tony. Steve seemed to pick up on the change in her demeanor. "Hey," Steve stood up, his voice softer as Alana seemed to stare blankly ahead now. "You wanna head inside?" She didn't move, "Alana?"

"Yeah?" She looked over at him, noticing he was standing up now, "You wanna head inside?" Steve's eyebrows furrowed together for a moment, but he nodded.

"Sounds great." She didn't notice his concerned eyes as she led him across the rest of the yard and into her house.

The first thing he noticed was the absence of any photographs. Ever since he knew Alana she always had a plethora of pictures in her home. Every single wall had been covered, but not anymore. Now the walls were bare, not even a picture of Delta was there. The dog leaned against Steve's leg as the super soldier absent mindedly pet the dog's head, taking in the open floor plan of Alana Mercer's home.

"It's nice." He said honestly, leaving his bag on a bench by the door and walking over to a hanging cabinet.

"Oh that's-" Alana's sentence cut off when Steve opened the doors, his eyes widening at the arsenal that was stashed inside. "Nevermind…"

"Alana?" He was looking back at her now, his blonde eyebrows raised in question.

The young woman shrugged her shoulders, "It's part of me." Her sentence translated in Steve's mind to 'It's my training'. He understood, to a certain extent. He and Bucky had weapons stashed in various places in their Brooklyn apartment.

But that still didn't come close to what Alana had in a single cabinet.

Steve closed the doors, stepping away and thus further into the house, his hands finding their way into the pockets of his jeans. "How long've you lived here?" He asked, looking around one corner and into her kitchen. A large window took up one wall, looking out over her backyard and the mountains beyond.

"Little over three years now." She had to rise onto her tip toes to reach an upper cabinet, grabbing two glasses from a shelf, "Wanna drink?"

Steve nodded his head, "Please." He held up a hand when her mouth opened again, "Water's fine." She nodded, filling both glasses before passing one to Steve and leading him to her living room. Alana sat down first, tucking her legs up underneath her, hiding the scars from Steve's view.

He just watched for a moment as she gazed out the window. Alana didn't look over at him when she spoke, "I'm sorry about Peggy." Her words made his heart ache.

Peggy Carter had passed away three and a half years ago. It wasn't too much of a surprise, but it had hit Steve hard. Alana knew it too, she knew how much grief he must have gone through…and she wasn't there. "I should've gone to the funeral." It didn't take a genius to pick up on the self-loathing in her voice. "I should've-"

"You didn't have to." He cut her off and Alana looked over at Steve. The super soldier leaned forwards, elbows on his thighs, "I managed. It's not your job to look out for me anymore."

She didn't even think before the words slipped off her tongue, "It'll always be my job." That kept him silent, "So, how long are we going to tip-toe around the real reason you're here?"

"Still not one for small talk, huh Mercer?" She just shook her head, taking a sip of her water. Steve let out a breath, "We're worried about you."

" _We?_ "

"Clint and I." He clarified, "Natasha. No one else knows Clint ran into you." Alana listened silently, "Don't tell me you're fine, because you're clearly not. Alana you're living alone in the middle of nowhere without contacting anyone. You never even reached out to Bucky."

His name doesn't make her freeze up this time, she doesn't give her brain long enough to process it, "No."

"We wanna help."

"I don't need help."

Steve scoffed at her and for a moment she wondered where the guy who wouldn't speak his mind went. "You need help, Mercer. This isn't," He gestured around her empty house, "This isn't living. I don't know what from but you're hiding!"

"I'm not fucking hiding from anything!" Her legs were out from under herself now. "If you came here just to lecture me then you aren't welcome." She was up and walking away, her jaw clenched. Steve stood up suddenly, his glass slamming down onto her coffee table.

"For once in your life Alana let someone take care of you!" She froze in her tracks at his raised voice. "You aren't okay! You were taken prisoner and forced to kill thousands of innocent people, you fought on a city that was obliterated and watched one of your best friends die! You ran away from your family and left Bucky behind! Do you have any idea how much pain that put him through!? Losing you again and this time knowing full well it was only you keeping yourself away! He was a goddamn wreck for over a year!" Steve's chest was heaving after he finished his rant.

"Are you done?" Her voice was small, her arms wrapped around herself though she still hadn't turned around. Delta was by her side now, the dog leaning into her legs.

"Yes." He expected her to scream right back at him, to raise her voice. He thought that maybe it was worse when she didn't.

"You don't know half of what I went through during that year. And you don't know what happened in Sokovia. I'd be better off dead, but yah know what Rogers? I'm not strong enough to kill myself." She glanced over her shoulder at him, Steve's eyes widening at her red rimmed eyes, "I'd know, I've already tried."

* * *

Despite his outburst Alana still let Steve stay that night. She even cooked him dinner.

He noticed some things that put him on edge though.

Alana zoned out multiple times during their conversations, seeming to lose attention suddenly and starring into nowhere. Whenever it happened Steve would either wait or softly call out her name until she came back. Her hearing seemed to have worsened as well.

By that Steve meant she had normal human hearing. He had had to tell her when the water started to boil for the pasta she had cooked for him. Before Alana would've heard the water boiling from the other side of her apartment, now she missed it from the adjacent room.

Something was wrong, Steve just didn't know what.

Later that night, after she had gone to bed Steve made his way outside onto the porch. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, sliding his finger along the bottom to unlock it before typing out a text.

' _Hey Buck, need you to come to this address as soon as you can. Pack to stay for a while.'_

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 **Hope you liked it! Bucky will be appearing next chapter! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**


	3. Chapter 3

**You guys are the best, like thanks so so much for reviewing it means everything to me! In other news I figured out where I'm going with this story and I'm super excited (You should be too)! You guys will find out a lot about Alana's past in this story!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Doll**

 _"Great is the guilt of an unnecessary war"_

* * *

"Afton, Wyoming?" His dark eyebrows almost touched together above the bridge of his nose, " _Wyoming?"_ He mumbled the state again under his breath in almost disbelief. Why the hell was Steve having him drive all the way to goddamn Wyoming? Sure Bucky knew that Yellowstone National Park was there, but other than that he couldn't think of anything else worthwhile.

He'd been driving for the past thirty-one hours and he was finally nearing the address Steve had sent him three days ago. What was there? Steve wouldn't tell him no matter how much Bucky pestered him. And oh had he pestered him, though his best friend refused to pick up his phone, only opting to respond to the ex-Hydra assassin via text message.

Bucky let out another sigh as he stopped at an intersection, a small grocery store taking up one corner. The town he was in was small, the welcome sign boasting a population of just under four hundred. It looked nice, quiet mostly. Like the typical everyone-knows-everything-about-everybody kind of town. He glanced over at the mountain range that loomed in the distance, a smile pulling at his lips.

Sparse forests dotted the mountainsides, surrounded by immense open fields of tall grasses and wildflowers. Everything seemed to be just coming out of being in full bloom, some of the more open fields already turning to yellow from the scorching afternoon sun.

It was beautiful out here.

Looking back to the road, Bucky turned the car left, following the pavement road until it turned to loose dirt. For a second he thought it would just be a dead end, with no houses nestled away from everything else. More trees surrounded this part of the road, blocking his view straight ahead on either side of the road. He drove for five more minutes, not passing a single soul on the road before a driveway came into view between a two clusters of trees.

The metal mailbox had a massive dent in the side and, judging by the rust, whoever occupied the house never expected any mail. There was no resident name written on the side, only a 'BEWARE OF DOG' sign nailed into one side, as he passed Bucky also noticed another sign on the opposite sign. He frowned as he read that one. 'NO TRESPASSING'.

More questions burned in Bucky's mind as he turned down the driveway. This wasn't a base. Wasn't any sort of training facility. To him it just looked like a backwoods home. A home where clearly no one was welcome.

Why did Steve need Bucky there? No, scratch that. Why was Steve there in the first place?

His eyes scanned the front yard of the small, two-story cottage. The house itself not matching the mailbox it belonged too. It was nice, a dark oak coloring with a stone chimney rising from one side. A large log pile sat stacked on the right side of the house, just behind the porch that took up the whole front. Steve's bike was parked beside an old rusted truck, the tailgate left open. On the porch were two aging Adirondack chairs.

The car rolled quietly up until it was beside the bike, Bucky shifting into park and cutting the engine.

* * *

"Delta!" Alana's hands rested atop her knees as she caught her breath. She looked up, grinning at the dog who was waiting for her a little further down the trail. They had gone this way hundreds of times before, and clearly Delta knew the way home. "Come'er." She snapped her fingers, the dogs tail wagging slightly as he bounded back to her.

Standing back upright she rolled her shoulders back. She'd been gone from the house for almost three hours, having taken Delta on a hike into the valley. They both always liked the silence that the valley provided, and this time of year the bison that roamed there had their calves with them.

They were almost back home now, having left Steve alone. Not that Alana had really offered he come along, she just wasn't used to so much company these days. She'd wanted to be alone with her dog for a while and the super soldier hadn't seemed to mind being left behind at all.

Sweat rolled down the back of her neck, tickling the skin between her shoulder blades and making her reach behind her head, pulling off the thin fabric that was her shirt and bunching it together in her left hand. Alana used it to wipe off her face. Her calves burned slightly from her hour long run plus the hiking, and her lungs stung with each breath, but it felt good.

The back of her house came into view, Alana looking back at the mountains one more time. Delta let out a bark, racing ahead of her in the early summer heat. She rolled her eyes, assuming he was excited to see Steve again. The traitor had even slept in the bedroom she'd put Steve up in instead of with her as was customary.

Delta waited for her now, his docked tail wagging back and forth as his tongue hung out one side of his mouth. As she approached he glanced from her to the back door, asking to be let inside. "Yeah, yeah I know." She shook her head, silently admonishing him. Alana pushed open the back door, Delta slipping in as soon as he could fit through. Her eyebrows came together as his claws frantically clicked against the hardwood as he started to run again.

She knew her dog wouldn't be _that_ excited to see Steve Rogers again.

Anxiety crept into her chest, making her heart feel as though it was being constricted. She stepped inside just the same, closing the door quietly and slinging her shirt over her left shoulder. Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach Alana made her way further into her own house, turning the corner to the living room and freezing in her tracks.

He wasn't facing her but she knew who was sitting on her couch.

His broad shoulders were what really gave it away, as if she would ever forget what Bucky Barnes looked like. His hair was cut short, styled up on the sides, and she guessed the front though she couldn't see. Besides that, she couldn't see much of him.

That didn't stop her now erratically beating heart. Her mind seemed to go into a frenzy, running a million different directions all at once. She hadn't seen him in four years, hadn't even attempted making any sort of contact.

" _He was a wreck for over a year."_ Steve's words echoed through her mind. Alana had caused him that pain.

Guilt seeped into her veins and coursed through her whole body.

She wanted to run, to leave her own home and not look back until she was far away from him. Sure, she had battled aliens and stood up to gods, but facing Bucky Barnes again?

Alana couldn't do that.

Her truck was outside; she never took out the keys. Alana could sneak back outside and run. Her right foot took a step backwards, landing on a floorboard that squeaking under her weight.

And then he was turning around and _god_ he was even more gorgeous than Alana remembered. She stopped short, her gaze transfixed on his blue eyes as they widened at the sight of her, his jaw going slack.

She took in his face; his broad jawline and sharp cheekbones. Still, his eyes were the most striking feature he possessed. Right now, there was just shock running through him.

She guessed he hadn't known she was here.

"A-Alana?" His voice was still rough, his Brooklyn accent even thicker than when she'd last spoken to him. "What're ya doing 'ere?" It was a dumb question and his words seemed to snap her out of her shock, her gaze flickering back to Steve.

The blonde super soldier blushed slightly and her eyes narrowed at him, "Can I have a word with you Rogers?" She asked quietly, her tone almost breathless. She hooked her right thumb back over her shoulder, towards the kitchen. Bucky tried not to feel hurt by how she ignored his question, though she answered it in her next statement. "This is, after all, my house."

His eyes flickered to her exposed midsection, taking in the plethora of battle and burn scars that mutilated almost her entire left side, starting from her lower neck all the way down to the bottom of her ribcage.

He had never seen the frayed patchwork of skin left behind from her burns. They made his heart ache for her still, and Bucky thought of how much of an idiot he was. After four years he had thought he was over her, had convinced himself that he could move on.

One look at her and he knew his feelings were not only still intact, but stronger than ever before.

Bucky glanced over at Steve as he stood up, shooting Bucky an apologetic grin as he made his way towards the kitchen, following behind Alana.

She rounded on him as soon as they were both standing on her tile floor. "You're a fuckin' asshole!" She tried to keep her voice down as the biting words clipped off her tongue. Steve put his hands up in defense.

"I'm just-"

"You finish that sentence I'll knock those perfect white teeth in yah hear me?!" Alana threatened, "You had no right! No right to invite that man into _my home_ without _my permission_!" Her voice rose just a bit and she tried to keep in it check. Not that it did anything, Bucky could hear every word. Alana's chest heaved up and down, waiting for Steve's rebut.

But it never came. He just stood silently, his mouth set in a thin line. She let out a breath through her nose before snapping at him "Aren't you gunna say anything?"

"No."

She let out a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "What am I supposed to say to him?!" She hissed out.

"Starting with hello might not be a bad idea." Sarcasm dripped off his words and she flipped him off quickly, getting a slight grin in response. "Just _talk_ to him." Alana kept on glaring, Steve meeting her gaze evenly.

After a moment she scoffed, "Five minutes." She conceded, "I'll give it five minutes." The blonde soldier nodded, watching as she took another steadying breath before walking out of the kitchen and towards the living room where Bucky sat.

It took every ounce of self-control for Alana not to turn tail and run out of her house on her way to the living room. She heard Delta's collar jingling the closer she got, tension pooling between her shoulder blades. Alana paused, jerking her shirt back on over her head.

When he heard her footsteps against the hardwood Bucky turned around. She ignored the way his lips turned upwards slightly, staying silent until she was seated across from him, her hands wringing together. She didn't look up at him.

"Hey." His voice was low and gentle; like he was talking to a wounded animal. His arm moved again and Alana's mind went reeling as it registered the dull whirr of the mechanics. Memories flooded her mind; even after four years it was still a sound she clung too. Her eyes looked down to his metal hand for a second before moving back up to his face.

Alana opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn't find the words. Or any words for that matter, so she just shut it again.

Bucky chose to speak up again, "I've missed yah, doll." Those four words pushed her up and over her comfort zone and then she was on her feet, retreating quickly back down the hall and too her bedroom.

"I can't do this," She mumbled under her breath, " _I can't do this."_

The bedroom dorm slammed behind her, leaving Alana alone in the dimly lit room. Back in the living room Bucky was sitting with his head in his hands, Steve across from him. The blonde had his hand on his best friends' shoulder, trying his best to encourage him despite Alana's reaction.

"Buck, I told yah she was bad. Give her time."

"I don't understand, what, what happened?" Bucky looked up at Steve, a helpless look in his eyes, "What did I do to'er?"

"Aw Buck, you ain't done nothing wrong. Come on, just stay a while. If there's anyone who can get'er out of this shell, it's you." Bucky let out a dark chuckle.

"Where's all this confidence you have in me comin' from Stevie?"

"Hey," Steve mock punched the other man's shoulder, "When couldn't you ever charm the socks off any dame you met?"

"That don't make me an ace in gettin' girls to talk to me, Steve." Bucky let out a sigh, "Alana's not some random share crop." Steve shook his head, even though he'd been free for almost five years now Bucky still used more slang from the forties than Steve did, his Brooklyn accent was thicker too. While he tried to correct him when he could, Steve usually hardly noticed.

For now, he chose to let it go again, "I know. Just stay a while." He repeated, "She'd do it for us, you know that."

"Why don't you stay, you're makin' it sound like you're gunna leave too."

Steve just nodded, "I am." Bucky glowered slightly, earning a somber grin in return, "It's not me she needs here."

* * *

Alana didn't come out of her room until three hours later. She just sat on her bed, wringing her hands together over and over again. Steve had come in two hours ago, letting Delta in as well as he said his goodbyes. He had work to do, he had told her, but Alana knew better than that.

Steve at least told her Bucky would be staying, much against her wishes. He didn't leave that one to be a surprise.

The only reason she was leaving the safety of her bedroom was due to her grumbling stomach. Hers and Delta's. Once again her dog was something she could never ignore completely.

Alana moved silently through the house, pausing before walking into the living room just to find it empty. Though it didn't take long for her to find Bucky, the tall brunette standing in her kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as he starred at a pot of water on the stove.

He didn't look up when he spoke to her, "See, now Steve told me yah need help," He raised one hand, "and I know what you're gunna say, you don't need no help." Bucky looked at her now, a slight smirk on his face, "But someone once told me that that's exactly what people who need help say." Alana's eyes narrowed at him as he quoted the very words she had told him all those years ago in his cell, the first day they met. "They were a pretty special person, saved a lotta lives."

She let out a snort, walking into the small kitchen and passed by Bucky, turning her shoulders to make sure she didn't touch him. She ignored the body heat radiating off of him and the aroma of spearmint and gun oil that was distinctly _Bucky_ to her. Alana reached up, opening up one of the overhead cupboards and pulling out a metal dish. Delta was by her side in an instant, sitting politely beside her, following as she carried it over to her pantry.

Bucky glanced her way as she scooped Delta's food into the bowl for him, measuring the dry food out before letting it fall. He took note of how she went to fridge next, taking out a carton of chicken broth and pouring the amber liquid over the food.

The sound of boiling water called Bucky's attention elsewhere, the soldier reaching over to turn down the heat with his left hand as he grabbed the boxed pasta with his right. He broke the spaghetti in half before dropping it into the water.

"Good boy." Alana's words were soft and clearly only for Delta. Bucky looked over regardless, his lips twitching upwards at the sight of Delta sitting attentively in front of his owner, ears perked forwards as she lowered his food dish in front of him. He looked back to the stove, stirring the contents once before crossing his arms over his chest and turning to face Alana.

"So,"

"I can make green beans." She cut him off, leaving Bucky with his mouth hanging open and his facial expression clearly showing his confusion. She gestured towards the pasta he was making, "To go with that."

"Oh," It was a pleasant surprise. "That'd be good."

They worked around one another in silence, Bucky trying to catch her eye every once and a while as Alana put every ounce of effort she could into not accidently brushing arms with him. The only noise between the two of them was Alana snapping off the ends of the green beans into the trash, tossing them into another pot she had dug out.

"I could put some music on, if yah want." She paused in her monotonous work when he spoke. Alana stayed silent first, trying to remember the last time she played music aloud in her house.

She couldn't remember when that was, "No." She wasn't about to start something new just because Bucky was here.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Alright." She resumed her work, Bucky pouring the pasta into the strainer, holding the pot in his left hand so the hot metal didn't burn his skin.

Twenty minutes later and the two sat on opposite couches in the living room, plates full of food and Delta sitting patiently, hoping for scraps. Alana's plate held much less than Bucky's, to the point where it worried him.

She used to eat a lot more. "Hey, d-" He cut himself off when her head snapped up. Remembering how she ran last time he called her doll, he left it out, "Yah never did tell me 'bout growin' up in Boston." Her eyes narrowed at him.

Alana wasn't an idiot; she knew what he was doing. He was trying to get her to open up to him. She'd done the same thing to hundreds of people over the years. And she knew exactly how to shut it down.

"My mother was abusive and only cared about my brother. I was told I was useless and a waste of oxygen so I got in a gang being their personal call girl. Once I got out they tried to murder me." Her words were short and sharp and at the end up it Alana stood up, taking her plate to the kitchen and rinsing it off before shoving it in the dishwasher.

Bucky was still sitting stock straight on the couch when she strode by again, back down the hallway to the safety of her bedroom.

* * *

 **Hope you liked it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's the next chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything**

''

 **Chapter Four: Circumstances**

" _I should be over it but I'm not, it still haunts me everyday"_

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Boston, Massachusetts – 2003

The air reeked of alcohol and tobacco, sticking to anyone who found themselves within a quarter mile radius of the Irish Pub that sat deep within the South Side of Boston. It's occupants mostly staggered around, yelling for refills or attempting to sing some sort of folk song. Not that they could manage to get coherent words to come out of their mouths.

At three in the morning there wasn't any sober patrons left inside. In fact, the bar staff was attempting to close up, shoving those who couldn't lift their own feet off the floor out the door.

"Hey!" A sharp young female voice cut right through the din, demanding attention. "Johnny you gotta get home!" Her hand clutched at a middle aged man's plaid button up, the girl physically lifting him somewhat off the bar surface.

She slapped the side of his face with her free hand, "Wake up! Johnny yah gotta wake up!" The man groaned, belching in her face, her mouth skewing in disgust. "Fuckin' gross." The hand holding him was starting to shake with the effort. The muscle of her forearm bulging slightly as she tried to keep her grip.

A second later, she had to let go. The brown haired salesman fell back to the counter in a _thud_. He groaned again in the next moment, one hand reaching blindly for his shot glass. When he couldn't find it he turned his head, eyes glassy as his glared at the sixteen-year-old before him.

"Damnit Brewsta' yah take m'glass again?" His words slurred together heavily.

"Yes." She said slowly, nodding her head, "Now get up and get out John." She patted his back, "We're closed." She walked over to his other side, her hand slipping his wallet back into the rear pocket of his jeans.

She had taken it an hour ago, taking half his cash that she knew he would think he spent on drinks once he sobered up. Alana stopped near the front of the bar, looking around to see who was left.

The girl had been working at Finnegan's for the past four years, so she knew who wouldn't leave easy.

"Aye! Brewsta'!" Her head snapped over towards the voice, eyes zeroing in on Mickey. She smiled at him as he waved his hand over to the back corner of the bar, "Yah wanna go deal with Oliver?"

 _No_ , she thought instantly, she really didn't but Alana wasn't going to say that. She needed the job and while she knew she'd have to do a lot now to get fired, she liked to remain the perfect employee. So she smiled again, nodding her head and turning on her heel towards the man in question.

The moment he saw her a smirk spread across his lips, "Well if it ain't the most beautiful little girl in all of Southie." Goosebumps crawled up Alana's arms, but she kept walking towards him anyways.

She hooked a finger back over her shoulder, "We're closing up." Her words came out hard, Oliver shaking his head and snaking an arm around her waist the instant he was close enough and pulling her to his side. "Let go of me!" She snarled, trying to step away.

The man's grip tightened, his fingers digging into a bruise that covered her right hip and making her grimace, "Nah, honey you gunna stay 'ight 'ere with me. Come on, I know how you treat those boys a'yours. Real sweet on them." Her jaw stiffened. "Oh they talk, naw they fuckin' _sing_ 'bout you."

"You gotta leave."

He made a face, his eyebrows rising, "And do what? Go back tah my wife?"

"That'd be a start." Alana went to step away again, managing to get a foot between them. The blonde man reached out for her again.

"Aye! Ollie!" There were suddenly loud footsteps against the hardwood floors, Alana looking up in relief as Mickey made his way over. She could see the anger radiating off him. "Get yah filthy fuckin' hands off'er!"

Both his hands were on either side of her waist in the next moment, his voice right beside her ear, "Why Mick? She yah little bitch?" Alana's heel came down to slam down on Oliver's toes a half-second later, the man howling in pain as she raced forwards. Her heart pounded in her chest, watching as Mickey grabbed the other man by the collar of his shirt.

"You listen real well, you _ever_ talk about my staff like that again and I'll make sure you ain't ever get into any bar in Southie again? Yah understand?"

;;;;

Present

;;;

Alana didn't know why she thought of Mickey first as she startled awake from yet another nightmare, but his name floated through thousands of memories to the forefront of her mind. She would never forget that night he stood up for her, it was something no one had ever done for her before then. It was that moment she knew they would never fire her from the bar, she had a safe place to go whenever she needed.

She wondered where he was now. If he'd gotten married, had kids? If he had even left the bar after all this time. Yeah, she figured, he would've moved on by now. He had always talked about it.

Mickey had been a dreamer, she remembered that fondly about him. He would tell her whenever the bar was slow. He was gunna be somebody someday, be a hero to his family, make his parents proud. Alana hoped he'd achieved that much.

She was jealous of his normal, civilian life.

Alana let out a breath, pushing her hair back away from her face, some strands sticking to the layer of cold sweat that covered her whole body. Her throat hurt too and so she gathered the blanket up around herself, holding it around her shoulders as she left the safety of her bedroom.

Silent, bare footsteps made their way down the hall and towards the kitchen, not even glancing back towards the room she knew Bucky was staying in. Alana filled up a glass of water quietly, padding softly back to the living room and sitting on the couch. She starred at the black screen of her television, not really thinking about anything at all. Her mind was numb as she pulled the blanket around herself more, tucking one leg underneath herself. She could feel her scars stretch through her skin.

Her back door opening made her jump, her head snapping around to see a figure letting itself inside. The glint of moonlight off metal told her it was just Bucky, but her heart didn't slow down too much at the realization.

The smell of smoke wafted in after him like an uninvited guest, and Alana's gaze drifted down to the lighter and pack of cigarettes that he held in his right hand.

"I couldn't listen to you scream anymore." His voice was strained slightly as he explained why he had been outside. Even strained there was still that gentle, coaxing timbre that she had loved so much.

It had been agony for him to just lie in bed and listen as her cries racked the whole house. Bucky had thought about going into her bedroom and waking her up, but he thought she wouldn't like it. In the long run, she'd just push him away even harder if he saw her like that. Though how he saw her now, she looked tiny. All wrapped up in her blanket, sitting alone in the darkness. "Are you cold?" The thought seemed absurd to him. Alana never got cold, her body regulated heat more efficiently than the normal human being.

But he could see her physically shivering.

"No." She lied and he saw right through it. Quietly Bucky rose to his feet, causing her eyebrows to draw together. He disappeared down the hall, opting to go to the room he was staying in rather than hers and grabbed the plaid red and yellow comforter off the bed. He didn't say a word as he brought it over, draping it over her lap. Alana only hesitated for a second before grabbing it and wrapping it around herself as well. "Thanks." She mumbled it under her breath.

The comforter smelt like him. She ignored the urge to pull it closer to herself.

He nodded as he sat back across from her. Bucky looked awkward for a moment, not really knowing what to do with his hands, so he drummed his fingers along the leather armrest. His metal arm glistened in the moonlight that shone through the window, the Soviet star a dark standout. "Wanna talk about it?"

She didn't say a word, just shook her head as the images of blood and pain flashed before her eyes for a second more. He didn't press the issue, staying silent as he sat with her.

They sat that way for an hour, Alana starring defiantly at the blank television as Bucky's gaze continuously wandered around the room. She would sip her water periodically until the glass was empty. The loudest disruption of their silence had been her setting it down on the coffee table before pulling the blankets back around herself, resting her head on her now-padded shoulder.

He let his gaze slip back over her, his lips turning downwards at the faraway look in her eyes. The spark wasn't there anymore.

Bucky didn't know what to do, didn't know what he could possibly say to make her feel better. So he said nothing, just sat with her.

He caught a glimpse of the burn scars on the side of her neck, fleetingly remembering back to the Battle of Sokovia.

Bucky had been standing by the lifeboats, helping Steve load the civilians into the ships. Alana had been back double checking the homes to make sure no one was stuck in the rubble with Pietro. They were losing the city, everyone could feel it. A little boy had ran into sight, Steve rushing out to grab him and rush him the rest of the way back. A minute later Alana had burst into sight, half sprinting-half limping through an alleyway.

Her whole side was blackened, soot covering her face. Pietro hadn't been with her.

Just before she reached the lifeboats the city had jerked, Alana leaping off the ground a moment before Sokovia had started to fall.

Clint had caught her, dragging her onto the ship.

Steve and Bucky had been on a different boat, and that was the last time Bucky had ever seen her.

No one knew what exactly had happened in the back alleys of Sokovia. He had his speculations. Maybe they were ambushed by robots after helping the boy, maybe a building had collapsed. Either way, Bucky knew Pietro had been killed.

She would come back, he had thought, Alana would return to the Avengers tower. They all waited for her, giving her time to mourn alone. But then the days turned into weeks, the weeks stretching into months and no one heard a word.

Her cell phone was disconnected; her credit cards no longer in use. The car she had taken shortly after the lifeboats landed had been found in a ditch. Tony had tried to track her down, but all his efforts proved futile.

Bucky had even stayed in Boston for a month, staking out the places she had told him about, but he never saw her. No one ever found her.

Until now, completely through good old fashioned luck. Two years after they finally stopped trying to find her. Everyone figured she wanted to be alone.

"Aren't you cold?" Her words shocked him out of the memories. Alana wasn't looking at him, still starring outside through the window.

A grin slide over his lips, "Nah. This air don't bother me."

"Right," She muttered under her breath, "Super soldier."

;;:::;;

The next time Bucky left the living room was to get up and start making breakfast. Alana was surprised, she thought he would've left after an hour. But Bucky stayed, didn't even get up to go to the bathroom. And now he stood there in her kitchen cooking eggs.

She watched him silently, wondering how long he planned to stick around. When he would give up? What motivation did he have to stay here with her; an old broken assassin.

"I've got an idea." He glanced at her over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips. She didn't say anything, not that he had expected a reply, "Since you're just sittin' whistl'n dixie all the time all quiet, I'm gunna tell yah 'bout growin' up." He sounded smug, proud of his idea. Bucky looked back at the skillet, "Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four." Alana looked over at him, her eyes narrowed as he spoke in the third person, trying his hardest not to let his Brooklyn accent slip out for once, "An _excellent_ athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front." She rolled her eyes as he dished the scrambled eggs out onto a plate. "Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, depravation and torture." The brunette turned around, a smile on his face with his index finger raised, " _But_ his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America. Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America's newly formed unit, The Howling Commandos. Barnes' marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater. His unparalleled skills undoubtedly secured the Allied victory." He was in front of her now, holding out a plate of scrambled eggs with ketchup over the top of them.

Alana was surprised he had remembered she liked them that way and hoped it didn't show on her face. Instead she scowled slightly, her mouth pulling off to the side, "You quoted your exhibit from the Smithsonian." She took the plate from him as she said it, Bucky flashing that half smirk that used to make her knees go weak.

Now it didn't do anything to her.

"I would'a added some extra stuff to it but eh." He shrugged before going back to the stove and grabbing the rest of the eggs. Alana didn't watch as he scraped some onto the floor for Delta, the dog inhaling the food before looking back up at Bucky expectantly. "Sorry bud," Bucky scratched the dog's head fondly, "I've gotta eat too."

He picked up his plate, striding across the house again until he was once again in the living room. Bucky sat down on the same couch as Alana, shoving a bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "So," He grinned, "Why Afton, Wyoming?" He pointed out the window with his fork, "Though that's a mighty dish view." She just raised her eyebrows at him as he shoveled another bite of food into his mouth. Alana hadn't understood what he meant by 'a mighty dish view' but she let it slide. "Now, lookin' at it from my view. 'Ere's what I think 'bout it. Small town, not many folks to avoid. Ain't no one would notice if yah skipped town either. We're way out in nowhere, so who'd think'a lookin' way out here for you?" She almost couldn't believe how much thicker his Brooklyn accent had gotten. His half smirk grew to take up his whole face when he looked at her again, "And no one would 'ear if yah shot anyone else way out here."

If anyone else made that joke she would've punched them in the face. But it was Bucky, a man who's record rivaled Alana's. Their kill lists ran for miles and yet there they both were, sitting in Afton, Wyoming eating scrambled eggs instead of being in adjacent cement walled cells with chains around their wrists and ankles.

The mental picture almost made Alana laugh. Her and Bucky still side by side regardless of the circumstances, both masters at taking life away from the people around them.

She grinned. The response made Bucky's heart swell and his ego lift. Not that he needed an ego boost, that had grown tenfold in the past few years.

Bucky Barnes was hot shit again, and the man knew it.

"That's jus' why I would pick to live 'ere." His breakfast was gone and he glanced at Alana's plate, frowning slightly to see she hadn't finished all of it. "You done?" He asked her as he stood up, a hand reaching out towards her for the plate. Alana nodded her head, making sure her hand was as far from Bucky's as possible as she handed back the breakfast.

He took it with that half-smile of his, Alana looking away as soon as the plate left her hand.

Progress, Bucky told himself as he strut back to the kitchen, "Ey 'Lana." He looked over at her from around the corner even though she didn't glance over at him. He knew she was listening, "I got no plans to skip out on you. For the record."

;;;:::;;;;;

 **There's a wrap on chapter four! Reviews are greatly greatly appreciated and get faster updates!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey! Thank you so much for all the reviews! You're all great!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Independence Day**

 _"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."_

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 **July 4th**

* * *

Bucky had been there for five days and in that time he and Alana settled into something akin to a routine.

They would wake up; either naturally or from one of Alana's nightmares. Bucky always woke up when she started screaming and had to step outside, where he would smoke and then would sit with her once she came into the living room. When she didn't scream Bucky would wake up from his own nightmares and then hear that Alana had moved to the living room, where he would still join her to sit in relative silence.

No matter what the two always ended up in the living room before four in the morning. Around seven Bucky would get up and make breakfast, Alana continuing to stare outside. The two would eat together, Alana feeding Delta as Bucky did the dishes.

Next Bucky would go shower and change, during which time Alana changed and would leave the house with Delta.

She would be gone for hours, always on foot, never taking the truck. Bucky tried to go out and find her the first two days, but quickly discovered that the area was far too vast for him to have any chance of it. If he were tracking anyone else in the world it would be simple, but it was Alana; she knew how to cover her tracks, and apparently her dog's tracks as well.

Bucky took to doing other things while she was gone. Once he went to the grocery store, taking his car into town, or he would call Steve. He wanted to make sure the blonde soldier hadn't burned down their apartment trying to cook.

But the morning of the Fourth was different. Bucky stood at the sink hand washing the dishes, Delta already inhaling his morning meal. Unlike the previous days Alana didn't go directly into her bedroom, but she sat back on the couch. Bucky thought nothing of it, focusing again on the dishes before him.

"Hey Steve." He almost dropped the plate he was drying when he heard Alana's voice. He stopped doing the dishes as he listened to her chuckle slightly, "Yeah I uh, I took his phone to call you." Bucky's hand dropped to his sweatpants pocket, eyebrows rising when he found it empty.

He had had his cell phone there during breakfast.

"I just wanted to say happy birthday, since I missed the last four." There was a pause, "No, I'm sorry, really. _Really_ , Steve I should've called. At least-" Bucky smiled as he heard her scoff, "The bedsheets? You loved those."

It felt good to hear Steve's voice again, even if it was only through a cell phone, _"Got a good laugh outta them."_ He conceded, _"How's everything?"_

Alana's lips pursed together, glancing towards the kitchen where she could still hear Bucky cleaning dishes, "Alright." Her answer was short and clipped, "You have any big birthday plans?"

" _Uh, yeah."_ She could practically see Steve running a hand over the back of his neck, _"I'm a going out with Ella and then Tony's invited us both over to the Tower for a small gathering."_

"You know that won't be a small gathering right?" Steve laughed, "And who's Ella? Steve did you get a girlfriend?" Bucky walked back into the living room at that time, dishrag still in hand but he swung it so it lay over his right shoulder. A shit-eating grin took up his face, telling Alana that she was right in assuming the latter.

" _Yeah…we've been dating for two years now."_ Alana smiled softly at the news, almost laughing as Bucky dramatically pointed to his left ring finger, _"Buck's teasin' me right now isn't he."_ Alana could hear the eye roll.

"Oh yeah, here, talk to him. Happy birthday Steve."

" _Thank you. Love you Alana."_ Alana didn't say anything back, choosing to simply hold Bucky's cell phone out towards him. The brunette took it gently from her hand, making sure their fingers didn't brush together.

He brought the device up to his ear, "Happy birthday yah punk." Bucky smirked, "How old are'ya hundred and four?" Alana turned away, silently making her way towards her bedroom and shutting the door behind herself.

She changed quickly, not thinking about much so she wouldn't go and change her mind about what she was going to do. Alana pulled a pair of gray running shorts up her tan legs, opting to just pull on her green tank top. It was already sweltering outside.

Tying her hair back Alana exited her room, padding over to the living room to wait for Bucky to finish up in the kitchen. He was off the phone now, putting away the last few dishes he had used.

His eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw Alana waiting in the living room. She jerked her head towards the door, "Leaving in five, if you wanna join." Bucky's eyebrows rose even higher and she almost smirked at his expression.

"Oh," the surprise was evident on his face, "Yeah, I'll jus' throw on shorts n' a shirt." The fact that she could hear his footsteps the whole way to 'his' bedroom gave away how excited he was that she had invited him. Both former assassins were almost always completely silent on their feet, the only time footsteps were heard was when it was intentional.

She waited impatiently, her hands wringing together over and over again as Delta waited politely by the back door. She wondered why she was inviting him, allowing him to accompany her on the only alone time she ever got these days.

It was the Fourth, she knew that was partly it. He was used to spending the day with Steve, celebrating not only his best friend's birthday, but the holiday as well. Alana felt guilty in a way, being the reason he was away from it all this year.

She didn't know Bucky didn't mind one bit.

He was back a second later, not having been gone even two minutes. Alana simply nodded at him before turning and making her way towards the back door. She could feel him following behind her, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Alana let Delta out first, the dog's tail instantly wagging the moment she turned the doorknob as he bounded into the yard.

It caused a grin to play on her lips as she followed him, even holding the door open for Bucky. It bounced shut behind him. "You don't lock it?" He questioned as they made their way further from the house and closer to the woods.

"My doors don't have locks on'em." Her voice was quiet and skeptical. "You already noticed that." She called him out on it, knowing for a fact he would've checked her doors for locks. It was part of basic training to check whatever structure you were sleeping in.

So you knew how much time you had before someone tried to put a bullet in you or slit your throat should they find you.

"Yeah." He said lamely, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

They were in the trees now; the path they were on well-worn down from years on consistent use. Bucky was silent for a while, obediently following Alana and Delta as they trekked uphill, the forest becoming a little denser as they went onwards. He could see an opening up ahead through the trees, at the summit of the mountain.

Growing up in Brooklyn he had never gone on too many hikes. Mostly because of Steve's asthma, the kid couldn't take the long climbs and Bucky wasn't ever going to leave him sitting in his house alone. He had hiked in the war, through the foothills of Italy and France. Though back then he had lugged a fifty-pound backpack with him almost everywhere they traveled.

Bucky physically cringed as he remembered how much his neck had hurt. "Yah know, back in the war we had to carry our packs. Huge ass things, weighed more than fifty pounds." He chose to tell Alana, filling the silence.

He hadn't been one to keep his mouth shut during the war either. He told her that too. Rambled on about hiking through Salerno and Azzano. He told her stories of other members of the 107th; Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Jim Morita. Those men she had heard about from Steve, but there were some only Bucky had known: Richie Stirva, Evan Johnson, Michael Whittaker. He told her about how they would all play poker together at night if the enemy wasn't on them, how they would sing songs and share letters from back home.

Alana let him talk, silently listening as they hiked further up the mountain. He didn't talk about the fighting or the death of the war, though she'd heard her fair share of that side from Steve. Bucky focused on the good times, on the pranks and the laughs he'd shared with first the men of his rifle unit and then the Howling Commandos.

When they reached the summit, he finally shut his mouth shortly after a soft "Holy shit" passed his lips.

Before them stretched the greatest expanse of open land Bucky had probably ever seen in his life. The valley before them a lush green thanks to the clear blue river that ran through the center. Along the river and overtaking the grassland were hundreds of bison, the giant mammals grazing in a mass herd.

Alana sat down, pointing out towards a bend in the river, "There're elk there." Bucky silently sat beside her, still looking out over the valley in awe. His gaze followed to where her finger pointed, his head nodded when he caught sight of the small elk herd that drank from the river.

"This is where yah run off too every day?" Alana just nodded, her lips twitching upwards as Delta laid down in a panting heap at Bucky's feet. He was silent again, simply starring out over the view. Bucky could practically feel Alana slowly relaxing more from her spot beside him. If he knew she wouldn't run away from him, Bucky would've grabbed her hand.

He kept to himself though, rolling his left shoulder back once to get the tension out of it, the mechanics whirring slightly faster at the movement. Alana turned her head to look over at him, the familiar sound making her feel safe.

"Why do you care so much?" Bucky looked over at her in surprise, and for the first time she met his gaze evenly. "About helpin' me?"

It made him grin, her almost admitting she needed help. He chose his words carefully, "Because you helped me, and you helped Steve. I get that you did a lotta bad shit, you know I get that, but that don't mean you deserve to live alone like you've been doin'. It took me a long time to realize that for myself, I want you to see that too."

She rolled her eyes at him, "That was very poetic." She muttered, leaning back on her elbows and looking back over the valley.

* * *

They had stayed on the mountain summit for over an hour before starting the trek back down. Bucky didn't talk the whole entire time down has he had on the way up. Instead he just watched Alana. The more he did, the more concerned he became for her.

The hike tired her out; they even had to stop to rest at one point. It had almost been a decade since she fell into the factory and Bucky wondered if it was possible that the effects wore off. But she had also been experimented on during her year with Hydra.

Bucky knew better than to ask. She would tell him when she was ready…if she was ever ready.

Neither one of them said anything when they got back to the house, Alana going right to the kitchen to refill Delta's water dish and grab herself a drink from the fridge.

They both drank at the same time, the dog lying down in a heap, a paw on either side of his dish. Alana watched him lovingly, a soft smile on her lips. Bucky had disappeared back to his room, Alana assuming to go change out of his now-sweaty clothes.

She retreated into her own room, stripping off her shirt before tossing it in the general direction of her laundry hamper. Alana turned, stopping short when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Carefully she raised her right hand, her fingertips brushing over the plethora of scarred skin that marred more than half her body. It had spread over her stomach, the flames that had engulfed her on Sokovia.

Alana used to be proud of her scars. They showed she was strong, proved what she had endured and survived. They had been reminders to her of what was important, what she fought for during her service with S.H.I.E.L.D. She thought they'd been beautiful; dozens of men had told her they made her who she was.

Now she thought they were ugly. They marred her skin, they were all she could see. They reminded her of what she'd done. How many people she had murdered in cold blood. She had killed _children_ without a second thought, without flinching. Alana remembered every single one of them. Their screams, how they begged her not to kill them. She remembers infiltrating buildings and watching the people below, knowing that in just a few short minutes they would all be dead. She killed them. She took away their lives.

Why did she deserve to live? Because she did all that? Because she saved New York once?

Alana didn't think that was true. Her scars weren't beautiful, they were a horrible, ugly reminder.

They matched her soul.

She didn't even think about what she was doing before she was in front of it, her fist driving through the glass. It shattered, the whole frame falling off the closet door and to the ground a second later.

Her fist stung, the feeling of blood running down her knuckles drawing Alana's attention to her hand. Her eyebrows drew together, she hadn't even thought of smashing the mirror.

"Shit." She swore softly when she saw the glass embedded into her hand. A second later the door to her room was being opened, Bucky standing – wide eyed – in the doorway. His gaze dropped first to the shattered glass that now covered her floor to her bloody fist.

He moved to take a step into her room, but caught himself mid-step. " _Alana_." His voice was pleading with her as he struggled to keep himself back from helping right away. Her mouth was set in a thin line and she didn't look up as she walked forward and shouldered past him, making her way into the bathroom.

Bucky followed her, standing in the doorway and watching as she dug out a first aid kit. She was gritting her teeth together as her fist stung like hell, the other shaking as she pulled out tweezers and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol.

She hopped up so she was sitting on the counter, hands over the sink. Blood was already dripping off her hand, staining the white porcelain. She leaned forwards, turning the facet with her elbow so the blood would run down the sink. With a shaking hand she carefully worked to remove the shards of glass from her hand.

After a few minutes of watching her Bucky realized she'd done this before. _Not anymore._

"Alana," Bucky walked more into the small bathroom as she winced again trying to pull out a piece of glass. He held out a hand, "Let me get it." She looked up at him, uneasiness clear in her eyes. "Please."

Alana didn't break eye contact with him when she closed the ends of the tweezers around the last piece of glass and ripped it from her hand. Pain shot through her hand and she cringed, anger flashing through Bucky's eyes at her action.

She opened and closed her hand a few times, making sure there was no more glass there before she unscrewed the cap to the alcohol. "No stitches." She muttered under her breath. Bucky sighed, running a hand through his short hair.

"I'll start dinner." Alana frowned at him, it wasn't even six yet.

"Why now?"

"I got burgers to grill. Was gunna fix up some corn too." That surprised her, both the words and the sharp tone of his voice. Bucky was mad at her, for what she wasn't sure. She just nodded her head once before pouring the alcohol over her hand, gritting her teeth together when the liquid passed over her cuts.

* * *

"It's good." Alana, Bucky, and Delta all sat outside on her front porch later that evening. Alana's hand was wrapped up, so she balanced her plate on her legs. She nodded to the burger Bucky had just finished grilling.

He flashed her a tight smile, "Thanks." He was still uncharacteristically quiet since she'd cut up her hand. "Happy Fourth." Alana just nodded back.

The sun had started to set and Delta ran around the yard, chasing the fireflies that lit up every few moments. This was how the past four Fourth of July's had been for Alana. Sitting on the front porch watching Delta run around in the yard. The air was starting to cool down as the sun set, the mountains casting looming shadows over the small cottage.

Though this year Bucky was beside her, his empty plate sitting on the railing next to where he had propped up his bare feet, one ankle crossed over the other. The scene reminded Alana of the dream she'd had so long ago. The one where she was living with him in the city. Where he was cooking breakfast for her. Where they had been married for over a year.

She had been happy in that. So blissfully happy.

Alana remembered telling him that she loved him then. The three words she had never dared to actually tell him.

But that was years ago, that was the past. Now she was a wreck and he had moved on. Alana wondered how much longer he would stay. A week, maybe? She hoped it wasn't much longer.

Alana spared him a glance, finding him looking out over the yard, watching her dog romp around. It was an amusing sight: a big tough dog chasing fireflies.

Rising to her feet Alana picked up Bucky's plate, he moved to get up as well, but Alana shook her head, "I'll do dishes." She told him, her words leaving no room for argument. "Bring him in in a little bit, he doesn't like the fireworks." With that she went back inside, scrapping the food off her plate into the trash and turning on the sink.

She let the basin fill with warm water, adding soap to it before turning the faucet off and beginning the mind-numbing task of cleaning off plates and silverware.

She heard Bucky let Delta back inside ten minutes later, both of the boys going into the living room after Bucky switched on the outside porch light. She refocused on the dishes, finishing them up quickly as she watched the sky get darker. Her heart felt like it was being slowly constricted the darker the horizon grew.

The dishes put away Alana quickly retreated again to her bedroom, nodding goodnight to Bucky as she passed him in the bathroom. Her door hadn't even been closed for five minutes before they started.

The loud, crashing boom of a firework exploding in the sky echoed through the air, rocking Alana's house. She visibly flinched, her mind racing back to explosions and gunfire as she wrapped her bedsheet around herself. Alana took a deep breath in through her nose, her hands starting to shake when another firework lit up the sky.

It reminded her of watching buildings blow up, the smell of corpses and death would always follow shortly after.

Alana struggled to get it together for the next half hour, crouched alone in the darkness of her bedroom as fireworks kept going off in the sky. She jumped with each boom, tensed up every time she heard the hiss of one being launched upwards.

Finally, her room seemed too small, the walls felt like they were closing in on her and all Alana could think about was gunfire and bombs. She threw the bedsheet off herself, padding quickly across her room and throwing open the door. Alana went to the living room, the largest room in her house, and sat down on the couch. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she starred outside, willing her mind to see that they were just fireworks.

She was alright.

Her brain wouldn't have it, though. She watched the lights flash over the mountains and she thought of the time Hydra went her out to help a rogue militia group. She had sat in a foxhole and listened as Hydra planes dropped bombs on an unsuspecting village a few miles away. Everyone and everything in that village had been burned to the ground.

Another firework shattered the silence, closer this time and shaking the house more violently than any of the previous ones. Unwillingly a terrified whine escaped past Alana's lips, her hands clamping over her ears to try and drown out the noises.

She didn't hear Bucky's door open, or hear him make his way down the hallway. Once he saw her on the couch he didn't hesitate going over to her. Alana's eyes opened when she felt the couch dip under his weight. He could see the fear in them and Alana could see he was uneasy as well.

Another explosion and they both flinched. Alana's hands were shaking and she slowly took them away from her ears. For the first time in four years she didn't want to be alone in that moment.

Bucky opened his arms slightly, " _Come 'ere, sweetheart."_ She barely heard him, but she was moving closer to him in the next instant, Bucky's arms wrapping around her as Alana buried her face in the crook of his neck. His hand rubbed up and down her back, "It'll all be alright. Ain't nothin' gunna hurt yah."

She shook like a leaf in his arms, jumping as another crash surrounded them. Bucky tightened his hold around her. Alana tried to focus on him instead of the fireworks. His slightly accelerated heartbeat, his steady breathing, even just the solidarity of him being there.

Alana stiffened slightly when he moved, resting his chin atop her head, Alana's forehead resting on his bare sternum. "It's alright." His Brooklyn accent was thick as he whispered to her in the intermittent silence. A hiss sounded in the air, both veterans tensing in anticipation of the sound boom that followed shortly after.

They both knew it should be over soon, but the finale was always the worst part for Alana. The continuous explosions and flashes in the sky. It was too similar, too much like what she actually saw when the villages were bombed or when she had blown up a building.

Alana always expected to hear the blood curdling screams afterward, to smell the stench of corpses and ash.

"Hey, _hey_." Bucky had noticed how still Alana had gotten, instantly he began calling out for her to come back, to focus on him and not the memories he knew she was reliving. He was seeing things again too. Mostly from World War II; sitting in his bunker and waiting out the bombings of the city or town they were about to liberate. He remembered how the trees would snap like twigs, sometimes their branches would impale soldiers around his foxhole. "You're with me. Alright? Alana you hear me?" Another firecracker erupted, closer this time and shaking the house. " _Shit_." Bucky swore under his breath. His eyes darting down to Alana as one of her hands gripped onto his metal arm like a vice.

She focused on the arm, the familiar hum of the cybernetic appendage. The sounds of the mechanics moving, the plates sliding as Bucky subconsciously flexed it as his hold tightened around her.

 _Boom!_

The next one went off only a few seconds later, the blasts happening in sequence as the finale was launched into the air. He whispered in her hear the whole time, "Aye, you're alright sweetheart, ain't nothin' wrong out there. It'll be over real soon. I promise."

It felt like an eternity to them both. Sitting and waiting for the show to stop. Alana tried to focus on Bucky's arm, Bucky tried to focus on Alana in order to block out their surroundings. The fireworks did eventually cease, though neither one of them moved away from each other right away.

Alana was still shaking, her knuckles white as they held onto the metal arm. "Yah know what my job was?" She whispered, her voice barely audible as it shook almost as badly as her hands, "After they bombed a city, or a town." He stayed silent, waiting for her to go on. "They sent me in. Those _bastards_ sent me in and I had to kill anybody who was still breathin'." A chocked sob ripped up her throat and Bucky ran his hand over her back again.

Hydra had never made him do that.

Bucky let out a breath through his nose, "You're safe now."

"How can I ever be safe from myself?"

* * *

 **Leave a review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Heyyy so I'm a terrible person. Sorry it's been so long, I went back to college and I've been very busy. Found this chapter and finished it up, I honestly don't know when I'll update again, but hopefully I will in the next few weeks!**

* * *

Chapter Six

* * *

"He's still here." Alana held Bucky's cell phone against her ear as she paced around the backyard. Her bare feet were sunburnt on the tops, Alana frowning as the skin stretching stung a bit.

There was a breathy laugh on the other end, "Of course he is, Alana he cares, he really, really cares about you." Those words made the latter woman frown. In the past month she'd noticed Bucky cared a lot. He was still living in her house after all. He put up with her nightmares and her mood swings.

"Yeah." Alana's voice was emotionless, "That's the problem, Natasha."

"You're being taken care of."

"I don't," Alana let out a breath, running a hand through her hair. A few strands pulled away from her sweaty forehead. "I don't want him here." Natasha Romanoff didn't say anything, "He doesn't know-"

"Then tell him, Mercer." Alana scoffed, "You haven't told anyone what happened back there. You need to talk about it." The older woman spoke softly, "There's a reason we had all those mandatory sessions. Just promise-"

"I'm not promising anything. Listen, I gotta go-"

"Don't hang up on me! Alana, don't-" She ended the phone call, effectively ending the second conversation she'd had with Natasha in the past five years. Bucky, surprise surprise, had convinced Alana to talk to her former partner again three weeks ago.

She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, letting out a shrill whistle that pierced the humid air. A few moments later she paused, hearing no rustle in the woods or the sound of paws hitting the ground. Alana whistled again, her chest tightening when her dog still didn't appear. She felt her heartbeat speed up.

Just as she opened her mouth to call out for Delta, Alana heard the back door open. "Hey," Bucky's voice was low as he got her attention before jerking his head back towards the inside of the house, "Delta stayed inside, remember?"

No, she thought, she didn't remember. Alana was positive her dog had followed her outside, but glancing behind Bucky she could see the Doberman standing there.

Dread and embarrassment tore through her veins. Alana never forgot anything, ever. She remembered every gruesome detail down to the last drop of blood.

Alana shook her head, stalking towards the back door and shouldering past Bucky. Her hand passed briefly over Delta's head, the dog's tail wagging slightly at the touch. "You alright?"

Bucky expected no response, so his eyebrows rose when she actually snapped at him, "No, James, I'm not." Her words came out choked as she pushed them past the lump in her throat. Alana's chest felt like it was getting tighter and tighter.

"Hey now," Bucky followed her into the kitchen where Alana now stood, her hands gripping the countertop so hard her knuckles were white. "You're okay." Alana shook her head at him, "Everyone forgets things."

"That's the thing!" She snapped again, glaring up at him, " _I don't!"_ Alana struggled to take a few deep breaths, her shoulders rising and falling sharply as she spoke, her voice cracking, "I don't forget things. I remember everything."

He watched as a tear rolled down her face, making him take a few steps forward. His metal hand came to rest on the countertop just a few inches away from Alana's. If she wanted, she could take his hand in hers.

She left it untouched. "You know I get that." Bucky's voice was soft as he offered her a small smile. Alana's eyes lifted, brown eyes meeting blue and she just starred for a minute.

' _Then tell him, Mercer.'_

Natasha's words echoed over and over again in her head. Alana wondered fleetingly what Bucky would think of her if she told him what had happened in Sokovia. Alana hadn't told anyone, not even Clint. Perhaps it would be enough to make him leave, though it may also make him stay.

Alana's gaze didn't leave Bucky's when she whispered so softly that he almost missed her words, "I killed Pietro." His eyes widened and as the words passed by her lips the guilt and the shame of what she'd done came crashing down on her all over again.

"What?" Alana wasn't looking at Bucky anymore, not really. She could see the boy's body there, lying still in the rubble. Her bullets lodged in his corpse, her shot that made his heart stop beating, and her finger still pressed down on the trigger.

"I killed Pietro." She repeated the sentence over again, her arms shaking now. "The little boy," She murmured under her breath but Bucky could hear every word perfectly, "The boy was trapped in the wreckage. I, I just saw him and thought he was good as dead. I had decided already I was goin' to shoot him and then-" A chocked sob ripped its way up her throat, "Then Pietro got between the two of us. I shot'em. I shot him seven times."

A metal hand covered her right hand in the next second, the cold metal startling her. "It was your training. It was Hydra." Bucky's words were solid in a way of how sure he sounded. "You kill whoever gets in the way of a mission, Alana I know that. That wasn't you."

"I decided to murder an innocent eleven-year-old boy! No one ordered that of me. Nobody!"

"You were just freed from Hydra, you've gotta see that. Their training, the" Bucky shuddered, "The methods they use to control us, you don't just forget." Bucky squeezed her hand once, making her flinch, "You didn't kill that kid. I saw'em run to the lifeboat."

"I killed Pietro." Alana sounded disgusted with herself, "I gained their trust and helped to free them. He looked up to me and trusted me with his life and I went and took it away from him!" He kept a hold of her hand, knowing that nothing he said could make anything better. There were no words that could justify her actions, none that he hadn't already said.

But she didn't need words then, Alana didn't want to hear any as another tear ran down her face. She surprised Bucky by moving towards him, his arms automatically opening for her as she buried her head against his chest. He held her because that was all he could offer.

"The serum is wearing off." She whispered it in a small, scared voice.

Bucky rest his chin atop her head, "I know," The words rumbled through his sternum and Alana let out a breath. "Does it scare you?"

No one had ever asked Alana if anything scared her before and she wasn't sure how to answer. She didn't want to appear weak, but now she knew Natasha was right. Everyone had been right: she needed help.

James was just the one who stepped in to give it to her. She had to trust him, so she took a leap and nodded slowly, "Yes." She wasn't scared, she was terrified. Alana didn't know what would happen to her. Would she just be a normal human being? Would her state keep getting worse until the point of death?

No one knew the answers.

Bucky knew better than to say it would all be okay, so he settled for something that meant even more to her, "I'll be right here. I'm with yah, 'till the end of the line."

* * *

Alana didn't like to think about her feelings. They had always just gotten in the way of things, been a burden of sorts. Since she never took the time to think them through, she never really understood them. That was why she had always hated the therapy sessions S.H.I.E.L.D had made her attend with a passion.

They made her face what she was feeling, much like how Bucky was trying to do the same thing now. In his own roundabout way.

The two sat in the living room on their respective couches, plates of pasta balanced atop their laps. "Why aren't there any pictures?" He asked innocently, looking around at the bare walls of her home.

"I don't want any." She answered simply, stuffing a forkful of noodles into her mouth.

Bucky still persisted, "Why not?" She glared over at him, eyebrows lowering slightly. "Yah had tons before."

Alana swallowed, "Yeah, _before_. Not now."

"What if," He shrugged his shoulders, the mechanics of the left whirring just slightly, "I got some and put them up."

"This isn't your house." She didn't miss a beat, "I can kick you out."

"But you haven't." That stupid half smirk danced on his lips, making her scowl back at him. Bucky took another bite of his food before raising his hands in mock defense, "But fine, fine no pictures. What if instead we got you a phone again? What happened to the old one anyways?"

"I shot it with my pistol." She deadpanned, her face straight the entire time. He knew she wasn't kidding, "And no, there's tracking."

"I have my phone here," Bucky pointed out, "You're not worried about that?"

"That's on you, not me."

"But it's here."

"I can kick you out."

Bucky let out a breath, "Point taken." He let them sit in silence for a few more moments before speaking again, his voice softer this time as though he was speaking to a small child, "Though I do think you should let Bruce run some blood work. Just to see what comes up." Alana opened her mouth, but he cut her off quickly, "You wouldn't even need to leave, just mail it to'em."

Her answer was another definite, "No."

* * *

Two months later – Late October

* * *

It was cold now. The air always crisp and never quite warming up enough that Alana would shed her light jacket while she was outside. Sometimes at night it got so cold that she had already brought her bigger comforter downstairs from the attic. It was a chore that she usually saved until at least mid-November in past years.

She was, to say the least, getting better still. Mentally. Physically her state was still degrading. Alana got cold, she bruised easier, and she would be exhausted after long days spent hiking the nearby woods.

All of these things were noticed by Bucky, who after almost four months, was still living in her house. She had grown used to his presence. No longer jumping when she saw him sitting on the couch or walking in from the back porch. Alana came to expect that the coffee would already be made when she walked into the kitchen, that Delta will have already been let outside once.

Bucky always got up before her, even on the nights she had really bad nightmares. He had nightmares as well, Alana knew that. She woke up on several occasions to him screaming, but she did nothing. She just sat in bed, listening to him suffer and knowing she could stop it.

Last time she had almost gone to wake up him. Alana had been just outside his bedroom door when she'd cringed, turning around and going outside onto the porch where his screams wouldn't be so loud.

That had been last night.

She sat now – alone – at her kitchen counter, a half empty bottle of whiskey dangling precariously between her thumb and middle finger. She watched the bottle swing back and forth, back and forth, over and over again as a small grin played on her lips.

Bucky had been gone all day, to do what she hadn't a clue, but around five o'clock Alana had gotten an idea in her head.

She wondered if she could get drunk again.

The answer was a glorious yes.

Her head felt foggy as the corners of her mouth twitched upwards again as though they had a mind of their own. She wondered briefly when Bucky would get back before taking another swig from the bottle. Delta sat by her side, the dog watching his master's actions curiously.

Alana smiled at him, "You're a good boy." She cooed, her words slurring just slightly. The dog wagged his tail at her, "Did James tell'ya where he was goin'?" Her Boston accent was apparent in full force.

Predictably the Doberman remained silent, just wagging his tail again. Alana let out a bark of a laugh, swinging her legs around the bar stool to land on her feet. She swayed a bit, gripping the bottle neck a little tighter before making her way to the living room and falling very ungracefully onto the couch.

She couldn't remember the last time she was this drunk. Or when she last ate. Alana frowned, realizing she had just left the kitchen. She didn't want to get up to go all the way back, even to cook food. "Maybe I shouldn't try cookin'." She mumbled under her breath as the world shifted just a little.

Years ago, the small movement would've terrified her, but Alana knew she was safe now. The device that was still in her brain had been inactive for years now, she had destroyed the control remote herself. Now, it just told her how intoxicated she really was.

It was half past eight when she heard tires on her gravel driveway. She sat up, propping herself up on an elbow as she placed the whiskey bottle on the side table. There was only a forth of it left.

She watched the headlights shut off, listening as Bucky closed the driver side door and then made his way across the yard and up her front steps. Delta leaped up, trotting over to the door just as Bucky pushed it open. "Hey, buddy." The former Winter Soldier smiled at the dog, patting his head as he closed the door.

"Where're you?" Bucky's head shot up at the sound of Alana's slurred words and very thick accent. He could only see from her shoulders up. Her normally stormy eyes were now hazy, one end of her mouth almost pulled up into a smirk. His eyes shifted next to the handle of whiskey next to her.

"Are you _drunk?_ " He asked in disbelief, taking off his jacket before making his way into the living room. On closer inspection he could tell just how much Alana had drunk. "You are drunk." It was a statement.

"Can yah make food?"

"No." Alana frowned at him, her eyes narrowing. She reached for the bottle, but by the time she brushed the glass it was already gone. She looked up to see it hanging from two metal fingers. "I think you've had enough. Anything that goes in your stomach is gunna come right back out." She still fixed him with a glare, "Why're you drinkin'."

Alana shrugged a shoulder, slinging her arm atop the backside of her couch. The movement made her sway just a bit. "Wanted t'see if I could now." For the first time since he found her again, Alana smiled up at Bucky, "I can. Fuckin' fantastic James I can get smashed!" His jaw tightened, "Might not have any dreams either."

Bucky corrected her, "Nightmares." She waved him off with a scowl, Bucky making his way around to the other side of the couch, setting the handle down on the table furthest away from Alana before he sat beside her.

"Look at yah, sittin' on t'same couch as me fer once." His eyebrows came together and Alana scoffed at him, "Yah always sit ova' there," She gestured to the further couch, "Like'm just some flimsy cripple who'll shattah."

"I don't think that." Alana just rolled her eyes at him, her head moving slightly along with the action. It felt wrong what he wanted to do, taking advantage of her state, but Bucky rationalized that it would help in the long run, so he found himself asking, "What're the nightmares about?"

She got very still right as the words left his mouth before Alana answered the question for the first time in a very small voice, "Me." He barely heard her, "Death. Everyone I killed, who suffered cause'a me."

"You hear their voices? Hear them screaming at you to spare their lives?" Those were Bucky's own nightmares sometimes, but Alana shook her head.

"I hear those voices even when I ain't sleepin'." She looked over at him, suddenly looking quite a bit more sober, "I feel like I can even smell tha blood again. Feel it on my hands." He didn't say anything because there was nothing to say. "Y'know I could use a hug."

It took Bucky a moment to think if he heard her right, but he opened his arm and she moved right into them, resting her head on his chest. "Do yah ever feel like you should'a been executed for what yah did?" It was a heavy question that she spoke into his shirt. Bucky thought for a minute before responding.

"Yeah," He looked down at her, taking in how small she felt in his arms, "But I think it's worse that we're still alive, we can still feel how we do about it."

"Like shit?"

"Like shit."


End file.
